The pawnbroker offered fifty dollars. With greed bright in his eyes and drool a speck in the corner of his mouth, the pawnbroker looked at her worn clothes and shaking hands and would not offer a dollar more.
And when she refused…he took it anyway. He took it and threw the fifty at her as she lay dazed on the ground and dared her to reclaim it.
She was going to tell Jac, after. After the fight. After one last time to convince him of something of which he would not be convinced.
But there was no after.
There was only a coffin in the ground.
Her ring was there in the shop. Her mother never told her the ring was magic, but as she grew older, when she realized the strange sensations she always experienced was an ability to sense – feel – magic, the knowledge her ring was more than a mere decoration occupied many hours of play, where she imagined all the different possibilities of what her ring could do.
Magic protected this building. Nothing as easy as a rock through the window could help her. Magic separated her from the only item that had any worth to her now. An item that had been stolen, taken from her because she was too weak. She was going to have her brother get it back.
But now her brother was dead.
There was only being alone in the dark.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as her temperature rose, the tips of her ears starting to burn. Hatred, pain, darkness and the grave and all alone in this world, and she fucking pushed against the magic, the ugliness inside her free and battering against this piece of fucking shit spell.
Crack!
It wasn’t audible, but the break sounded against where she had been pushing… whatever… outside of herself.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
A faint glow surrounded the building, the magic visible, dancing white and airy with cracks throughout. It was unraveling like a thread pulled from a knitted sweater, starting small but soon missing large chunks, until not a hint of magic remained.
“Holy crap, that was awesome!”
Nalah spun around before her mind processed the possibility of threat. Short bursts of information. Two women. One tiny, Asian, colorful. The other tall, redhead, all in black.
Then her breath punched out of her, and her body gasped to bring air back into itself.
Dear gods, the magic.
It was from the redhead’s sword, of which only the hilt was visible behind her right shoulder. There was nothing soft or tiny about this sensation. It was inferno, clawed death and black wings, oppressive yet…compelling.
Come closer…
“Wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The Asian woman spoke, the same voice as the original statement. She stepped forward, as if to shield the sword behind her, but since she didn’t reach the redhead’s shoulder, it was wasted effort. “Keep your power to yourself. You’re too weak to be messing with Tenro. Then again, I’m pretty sure a huge chunk of the gods are too weak to be messing with Tenro.” The redhead smirked at that, but said nothing.
“Tenro? Power?” Nalah’s voice was strained, broken, to her own ears.
“Tenro’s the sword, and power – you don’t know your powers, do you?” The Asian woman’s eyes brightened and she turned to the redhead. “I got a great professorial outfit I could change into – or, wait, maybe I just have the schoolgirl outfit, but I know I have glasses-”
“Laire, focus.” The redhead’s manner was resigned, as if this type of conversation was normal. “Please explain before she rightly assumes your crazy level. What’s your name?”
That last question was directed at Nalah, and even as emotional exhaustion threatened to topple her, instinct and long habit made sure her mouth remained closed.
Laire waited a beat before she went on. “Okay nameless girl, you are a Magic Breaker.”
“Magic Breaker?” Nalah never heard of such a thing, though around here magic was of the low-level, thug life variety. Anyone powerful moved up and out in quick time. “I can’t cast any spells.”
“I didn’t say you were a caster, I said you were a breaker. Much rarer and a whole separate classification. That little demonstration?” Laire twirled her forefinger as she pointed at the building. “Tells me you are untrained but have a hell of a gift.”
Gift? Being a wizard was a gift. If she could cast spells, she could’ve saved her brother. This was useless, even if it did have a name. “I thought only wizards and mages could undo magic.”
“That’s usually the case, which makes finding someone like you all the more fantastic.”
The redhead spoke for the first time. “Why did you break that barrier?” she asked, lifting her chin to indicate the pawn shop, and the question of why these women were here – two women who belonged far, far away from this cesspool – formed deep in a sorrow-fogged brain.